Girl in the Box
by paperiuni
Summary: Rukia is rescued, and it's time to head home. Ichigo and Rukia have a heart to heart, and egos get knocked about. Both ways. With love.


**Girl in the Box**

A _Bleach _Fanfiction by Aino

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Disclaimer: Bleach is rightful property of Kubo Tite, Shounen Jump and TV Tokyo. I promise to put everything back when I'm done.  
Dedication: To Goldberry.  
Rating: **K+** (language, mention of blood and violence)  
Category/ Genre/ Pairings: one-shot, drama, waff, RukiaxIchigo  
Theme: IchiRuki 100 themes, #16, "morning moon rising"  
Timeline: The very end of the Soul Society arc; manga chapter 181. Terrible spoilers for said arc abound.  
Feedback: Much, much appreciated.  
Summary: Ichigo and Rukia have a heart-to-heart, and egos get knocked about. Both ways. With love. (2895 words)  
Note: This is a follow-up to _Holes in the Rain_. Familiarity with that story helps, but is by no means necessary; they just work in the same continuity.  
In the Background: _Street Spirit (Fade Out) _by Radiohead and _Not Only Human_ by Heather Nova  
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Above the flat white shapes of the Seireitei skyline, the morning moon floats like a sliver of a papery dream. The stars shine unseen; filmy clouds passing overhead streak the luminous sky. Rukia breathes in the silence and reclines back onto the roof.

The summer sky is soothing in its vastness. She used to watch the thin column of blue the Senzaikyuu window let in, an immaterial bridge to the freedom she had already given up on. Now, she can again turn her head and see the Court fade into the night all around her. The sekkiseki walls that drained her to a stumbling husk are gone, her collar snapped, and she breathes just to feel the easy rush of air into her lungs.

It feels surprisingly like mercy.

Because she is alone, on an abandoned rooftop on the outskirts of Seireitei, she smiles up at the gently blowing treetops. The wind has not really risen yet, but an hint of it is already sweet on her skin. Rukia is not much one for poetic expression, even in the best of circumstances, but these quite _are_ the best circumstances.

Her execution was thwarted, her sentence lifted, and no one died. At the moment, she would endure poetry, even those foreign specimens Ichigo furtively keeps on his bookshelf, with convoluted floral imagery of... well, she went back to her horror manga at that point. Ichigo never seemed to notice she had even touched his books.

Most often he pays no attention until she kicks him upside the head. He had better brush up on his perception now that she will no longer be there to clue him in.

Today, at noon, the dimensional gate will open and take her rescuers back to the living world.

Yesterday she told Ichigo and Inoue that she would not be going with them. It is the only sensible -- possible -- course of action. She has been gone from Soul Society for too long.

If only Ichigo's unquestioning faith that she would come along would stop nettling her.

_'I don't owe that idiot a thing. What else could I do but stay? Did I ask him to --'_ Acerbity seems lost on her conscience. Even when she tells it that unquestioning faith is only a more gracious aspect of the dogged determination that dragged him through Soul Society on his stupid, noble mission to save her life.

At least that part of him has stayed the same.

It might be too much to say she left behind a boy and found a man come to rescue her, but he has changed. He entered an alien world alongside a handful of companions nearly as clueless as he was, armed only with the same reckless courage and undying attitude that marked the taking over of her shinigami duties.

Ichigo would have shaken down the walls of the Senzaikyuu itself to find her. In fact, what he did was not any less remarkable -- or foolhardy.

It is hard reaching accord with yourself when you are of two minds as adamantly as Rukia right now.

Then again, she has never known anyone _quite_ like Ichigo before, and the thought is both a thorn and a comfort.

Rukia's head shoots up at a groan of wood under strain from below; she scampers to sit up. Then someone curses rather creatively, and hooks a forearm on the edge of the roof just as wood splinters some way below.

Dangling on the gutter is Ichigo, the hilt of his zanpakutou jutting behind his right shoulder. He hoists his knee onto the roof as Rukia gapes, and falls to sit in a loosely cross-legged pose, laying his sword down beside him. Like warm water, his aura finally envelops her, its unbridled pressure palpable but not uncomfortable. Her senses are still so weak she never felt him approaching.

However, her voice should work just fine; yet she stammers. "How did you --"

This is her place. Rukia's concept of personal space might allow her to take up residence in Ichigo's cupboard, but _private_ space is a different matter. This rooftop, circled by the wild trees, is hers.

"Ukitake-san," says Ichigo noncommittally.

It figures. Her captain is still far too eager to meddle in the name of what he considers his subordinates' best interests. Apparently, Ichigo is included in hers.

Taken aback by the thought, she has to ask Ichigo to repeat what he was saying.

"I was looking for you." He sounds surprisingly mild. "He said you might be here."

Out of the corner of her eye, Rukia gives him a look.

At length, he continues, "We're leaving in the afternoon."

He is waffling. Ichigo does not waffle. "I was planning on coming down before that," she offers, not quite knowing the reason for the apprehension tingling at the back of her head.

"'S fine. I already climbed up here, didn't I?"

She waits. Ichigo is rash, simple to read, but right now, he downright puzzles her.

"You told me," he begins, sucking in a breath as the three words fall like stones into silent water. "That I could talk to you when I wanted to."

Ichigo is rash, and young, and she recalls both of these things with a pang. However, she does not need to keep her voice considerate; it rasps out barely audible against her better intentions. "So I did."

Ichigo kicks at a loosened roof tile; it clatters under his heel. "So. About what you told m -- us earlier..."

Rukia supplies the rest for him. "That I was staying here?"

"Yeah." Leaning a narrow cheek on his hand, he peers down.

"This is my world, Ichigo. I still need to recover."

There is a pause. Rukia cannot quite gauge its specific nature before Ichigo speaks up. "It's fine. I know there's a lot of things that -- that you..."

He tries so hard to grasp at things unsaid, she finds that she wants to voice at least some of them.

"Yes. Much has changed while I was gone... and even more while I was in the tower." She cranes her head back. On the horizon, a late star winks timorously at her. "Also, there's someone very important I need to talk to... to clear things up with."

Ichigo makes a throaty noise; she senses his shoulders stiffen. Reaching to hover her hand above the hilt of his zanpakutou -- touching another's soul cutter without permission is abjectly bad form -- Rukia looks at him levelly. "You found out his name. He is yours now." Her eyes soften at that; it has become one of her most ardently guarded secrets how proud she is of him. "As for me, I've begun to regain my reiatsu... but in battle, I'd still be alone. No shinigami should be."

Something courting elation dawns on Ichigo's face as he breathes out, "Oh. Right."

Before, he would not have understood what it meant to lose the bond with one's zanpakutou. Not that she would have offered to expound on the matter, ever.

Now, he needs no explanation. Rukia is grateful for that.

"So it'll be okay?" Ichigo glances askance at her.

Quite of its own volition, her mouth draws into an impish smile. "Of course, you dolt. Who do you _take_ me for?"

For a heartbeat, he remains still. Then his silence cracks into a low, breathy laugh that fires a jolt of absurd delight through her. Rukia leans towards him, and forgets herself. "Do that again."

"Do what?" His frown returns.

"Laugh." Right now, she cannot be anything but honest, damn it all.

It would seem Ichigo has no appreciation for her sort of honesty. " Like it works that way. You can't just tell someone to laugh!"

Unsubtle bastard, he is. "You want me to make you _cry_ instead?"

"Just try it, pipsqueak! You don't stand a --"

Propping herself up on her knees, Rukia seizes the back of his wrist with a smack of flesh on flesh. Her other hand twists his fingers down into his palm, and with a smooth turn and a sideways slide she has him on his back on the roof.

"Rukia, you _bitch_! Leggo of my -- _ow_ -- hand!"

She puts a little more weight on the knee on his chest to discourage any tries at dislodging his arm. Given the way he is thrashing, he might. Still, she cannot resist the urge to gloat _just_ a little. "'Pipsqueak?' Damn straight. I've fought opponents twice _your_ size all my life."

Even with his left arm crooked and pinned above his head at the wrist, Ichigo can glower with the best of them. If anything, his predicament only augments his natural talents. "Let. Go. Rukia."

"Ask nicely."

"Like hell."

He makes a grab at her with his free hand. She nudges his solar plexus with her knee, and he goes quiet.

Smirking, Rukia sits back and draws her knees together. "Did _you_ really beat up half of Seireitei?"

Ichigo coughs and sputters, mostly for dramatic effect. "You want me to go bankai on your ass, dammit?"

"You couldn't imagine the amount of paperwork that would drop on your ass. We're in the Court, moron." She barely manages to keep her tone dry.

He braces his palms on the roof and leans back on them, aggravation lapsing from his demeanour. Behind them on the eastern edge of the sky, wisps of teal seep into the hazy violet, wraithly heralds of dawn. Ichigo raises his eyes to the horizon.

"We pretty much wreaked havoc on this place, didn't we?" He is not lamenting in the least, but at least he is serious.

Rukia wants to say many things to that, but utters none. '_It doesn't matter now. You helped us all, in the end.'_ There are grimmer threats than ruined buildings and wounded prides hanging above Soul Society now; she dearly needs to get on top of matters again. However much everyone tiptoes around her and tells her to just rest, she has caught the rumours, and has no qualms about pounding Renji for inside tidbits, anyway.

Not that she needs the hearsay. She was there. She has not forgotten the way Aizen looked at Ichigo -- she noticed _that_ even through her fear for her brother, bleeding in her arms -- nor his parting words. They still twist an icy knot in her belly, for reasons she cannot fully name.

She wonders if Ichigo remembers them at all. Perhaps not. He was hanging on to coherence by sheer stubborness, spilling his own lifeblood all over the Soukyoku hill.

Half-consciously, Rukia extends a hand towards him, drawing a line in the air along the sash of his hakama, where Aizen nearly bisected him. The wound is gone now, mended by Inoue's healing skills, and the only indication it was ever there is a slight stiffness to his gait. Soon even that vestige will heal. Souls are pliant and forgiving matter: the most severe of hurts can be smoothed over without a trace.

What sublime irony there is in that fact.

Eyebrows knit far more deeply than is customary, Ichigo is staring down at her hand. Rukia tries to school her features into a nonchalant scowl, but knows that her eyes are too bright and cinched with feeling.

"Oi. What're you poking me for?" His tone is not entirely belligerent; evidently her guise has been pierced.

"I'll poke you if I like," she quips haughtily, thrusting her forefinger into his side.

Ichigo yelps and shies away. "Shit! What was that for?"

"Would you presume to question a Kuchiki?" She means for the words to be light, but before she can stop it, a wave of raw hurt pinches them into a choked whisper.

_'If he hadn't defied niisama, I wouldn't be here now.'_ Stupid emotions, a whole ungraceful barrage of them, open on her at the thought. _Soul Society may come tumbling down tomorrow, but... I'm still here._

_'Because they all protected me.'_

It might be a testament to his concern that Ichigo only jabs his finger at her temple rather gently. "Hey, Rukia." He bends his head to catch her eye.

Rukia shouted at him for his utter dumbness, after they had both woken up and hobbled still dazed and -- in his case -- bandaged about the Fourth Division medical ward. He strode away the very image of bruised dignity, and barked over his shoulder that she had no business lecturing him, earlier, now, or ever after.

Again, she vowed she would not thank him, least of all for his ill-mused, death-defying heroics.

Everything is suddenly upside down.

"You lunkhead," she whispers. Her fingers mesh in the cloth of his kimono as she scrambles close, not knowing what it is she is seeking, but needing somewhere to bury the pent-up anguish and gratitude and irrational warmth she cannot contain any more.

She does not fit into his side at all, all bird-frail bones and sharp angles. The way Ichigo tenses and panics a little hardly helps matters. "What are you _doing_?"

"I'm holding on," Rukia grinds out. "Stop questioning me. It's so annoying." She rests her knees on his leg; his heart leaps under her ear as she burrows her head into his kimono. He smells warmly of sweat and linen and something spicy and almost subliminal. "I don't care what you say. Not one bit."

After a few seconds, Ichigo tilts his chin down; his breath quietly stirs her hair. He even sits up so she can lean into him more comfortably. "Fair enough."

Then she cries for a while, soundlessly, because it would be a silly thing to make a fuss about. He lets her do that, and does not make a fuss.

As Rukia pulls back, there is space aplenty for awkwardness, but they evade that, and she lingers close even as she sits down again. She supposes the tears helped; she can breathe freely again.

"Thank you." She inhales deeply, just because she can.

_Now_ Ichigo fidgets. "Ah... no big deal."

She fishes around for another topic before the awkwardness can find an opening. "Say -- there was something you wanted to talk about?"

"Well, shit." He grins in that way of his that is not a grin, but rather an expression of supreme Attitude. "It only took you a dozen detours."

Rukia graces him with a dirty look carrying not-so-subtle implications of harsher anti-idiocy measures to follow, if necessary.

At least slighty chastened, Ichigo goes on, his voice mellowing, "I just wanted to make sure. You can stay if you want, 'm not dragging you back, but -- it's going to be a while, right?"

_'Before we'll meet again,'_ she completes for him.

"So I wanted to see you before we go." Ichigo looks straight at her for perhaps the first time all morning; his perpetual scowl has relaxed somewhat.

Rukia nods. The sort of naked, easy honesty those words bear must be cherished; it is far too precious, whoever it comes from. "I'll miss you," she confesses, under her breath. Maybe it should be something else, only those words come out, and they feel right.

His sandalled feet scraping on the roof, Ichigo turns enough to scoop her into a hug, rough and hasty, his hand trembling softly against her shoulder. Her arms seem too thin to support him; she wraps them around him anyway, allowing him to tug her into his lap so he can drop his chin against her shoulder.

Holding and held, they huddle there together for a spell of the clement twilight before dawn. At length, she brings her hand to his face, tracing her fingertips along his jaw.

His eyes snap open. "Rukia --"

She retorts with a half-smile, iron in her timbre. "Shut up. I'm memorising you."

He makes a small, unintelligible sound at that, but stays still. Although Rukia later wonders as to the reality of this particular moment, the fact remains that he lets her hold his head and commit him to memory like a blind person, her fingers painting the contours of his face with aching care. He bears it with patience that she cannot recall.

Distantly, Rukia thinks that the threshold to leaving oneself this vulnerable is staggeringly high for them both. Slipping her arms round his neck again, she embraces him goodbye, and forgives him for almost dying to save her, and thanks him for giving her back the sky and this high place that is no longer hers alone. What Ichigo tells her then, holding her in return, she guesses accurately enough.

She lets go first. Hands on his shoulders, she gives him the last of her long, knowing glares usually accompanied by rapid-fire advice that he fails to heed.

"Soul Society is where I need and want to be, for now," Rukia tells him firmly, and for the first time ever, tenderly. "You want to go back to the living world. It'll all work out fine.

"Go home, Ichigo."

Ichigo huffs, something fond and amused mixing into his crooked grin. "You ever want to come in, just bang on the window."

Rukia chuckles, a rare sound in her own ears. "I will."

The boy who unlocked the door opens his arms, and the girl in the box flies free.

**Fin**

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_hakama_: the wide skirt-pants all shinigami wear as part of their uniform  
_reiatsu_: a person's spiritual energy/aura  
_sekkiseki_: a material in the Bleachverse that blocks and drains spiritual energy  
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I again owe hearty **thank you**s to my indomitable beta readers, The Firefly and Purple Pen. doffs hat Thanks also go out to Tenebris for jump-starting my muses on this and for sympathising with my plight of present tense Rukia!POV. Ganbaru yo!

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First draft December 12, 2005  
Revised December 17, 2005  
Aino  
aino at paperiuni dot net


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